The Quartermaster
by alynwa
Summary: This story pre-dates the series. Red and Dembe are in London and Dembe is keeping a secret. WARNING: This story speaks to Dembe's past, nothing explicit, but it is mentioned.
1. Chapter 1

"Dembe! Are you all right?"

He startled at the sound of Red's voice and snapped, " _What?_ I'm fine!" as he whirled from looking out the window to face the man next to him. Regretting his response immediately he apologized, "I'm sorry, Raymond. I did not mean to sound so harsh."

The two men were in a taxi stuck in traffic on Cordelia Street in London. They were on their way to lunch at a pub Raymond had said served the best bangers and mash he had ever tasted. Raymond was staring at him now in that peculiarly disturbing way that made him feel like he was being looked _through._ "I'm not that fragile, Dembe, no need to say you're sorry." He watched for a few more seconds silently before asking again, "Are you all right?"

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Because I spoke to you twice and you didn't answer. It was like you hadn't heard me." The traffic began moving just as Raymond looked past Dembe to the street and sidewalk. "What or who did you see that changed your mood?"

"Nothing and no one, Raymond. I was just…daydreaming." He watched as Red simply nodded and leaned back in his seat. _If I were to tell him that I thought I saw a man who used to frequent Owite's brothel in Nairobi, a man who used me as his sexual plaything until I was fourteen, Raymond would kill him.*_ Aloud he said, "Would it be a problem if we got this meal to go? I'm starting to feel unwell."

"Of course not. I'll call ahead so the food will be ready when we get there." He slid the privacy divider open to speak to the cabbie. "Change of plans; I'm going to go inside and get takeaway and then you'll drive us over to Aberfeldy and Dee."

The two men ate their lunch in companionable silence in the safe house's kitchen. The food was as good as Red had said, but Dembe's appetite was off. "Maybe you _are_ coming down with something," Red opined, "I made sure your sausages were beef. Are they not to your liking?" He knew that Dembe wasn't above eating pork, but he preferred beef.

"They're good. I'm not as hungry as I thought."

"Why don't you stay here while I go meet The Quartermaster? I need him to do obtain some things for me before we fly on to Spain. I'm not anticipating any problems. I'll bring dinner."

"If you are sure." At Red's nod, he reached behind him and pulled his gun. "Take it, Raymond, I will feel better knowing you have two weapons."

"Thanks, I'll wear my ankle holster." He patted the side of Dembe's face affectionately. "Feel better. I'll call when I'm on my way home."

Dembe stood at the window and watched Red drive away in the rental before pulling his phone and pushing "six" on his speed dial. "Glen, this is Dembe. I need you to find someone for me and you _cannot_ tell Raymond."

*ref. my stories "The Mombasa Cartel Legacy" and "Memories Past," both published on this site.


	2. Chapter 2

Dembe knew that Raymond's meeting with The Quartermaster would last about an hour and a half and with travel time and stopping for food, he would not be back for at least three and a half to four hours. Glen had taken what little information he could provide and even though he complained about it ( _That's it? A white man you_ think _his last name is Ferguson, you_ think _is English and you_ think _is a guy who used to frequent a no name sex house in Nairobi years ago and you want me to find him? Who am I? Houdini?_ ) he said he could start a search. _I'll get back to you in two or three days,_ he had said.

He was feeling all at sea; more than he cared to admit, even to himself. Even if the man he saw turned out not to be who he thought he was, seeing him had brought up memories and feelings that he had hoped were dead and buried by years of therapy.* He wasn't much of a drinker, but he decided to have some of Raymond's single malt scotch to try to settle his nerves. Pulling an old – fashioned glass from the cabinet, he lifted the bottle of Balvenie forty – year old liquor from the bar and poured a very generous amount for himself. He sat in the recliner in the living room and gulped deeply. He was barely able to swallow before exploding into a fit of coughing. The warmth of the alcohol burned down to his stomach and seemed to spread in a way that was not unpleasant. The second time he put his lips to the glass, he sipped and there was no coughing. He leaned back against the chair and relaxed. _This isn't so bad._

 _He was back in Nairobi, back in the brothel, back in hell. He looked around. He was in the room that Owite kept for men who wanted sex with the older boys, the ones who were getting so big that there was a chance they could hurt a paying customer. This bed had chains and cuffs on the four posts to hold boys down by their arms and legs. He looked down at himself. He was naked, but he wasn't his fourteen year old self, he was an adult. He looked up in response to the voices he heard in the hallway. He recognized Owite's voice and the other, the other voice was Ferguson! He knew without question that they were heading to him and he jumped up to run only to realize that his right leg was shackled to the bed. "There's my beautiful boy," Ferguson said as he entered the room, "I know you've missed me. I've missed you, too." He stepped closer to the bed and grabbed his face roughly. "I'm going to enjoy this."_

 _To his horror, Dembe's limbs wouldn't obey him, he felt like each appendage weighed a ton. None of his skills as a fighter could save him, he felt drugged. He could feel Ferguson's body weight pushing him down onto the bed and he watched helplessly and with a growing panic as the man reached for his privates. All he could do to help himself was scream, "No, no, no, no, NO! Stop it. STOP IT!" He heard a crash somewhere in the distance._

"DEMBE!"

Dembe's eyes flew open. Instead of the brothel's bed, he was slumped down in the recliner and instead of Ferguson, it was Raymond kneeling before him saying his name and telling him he was safe. The nightmare unnerved him so badly, he shot forward and threw himself against his father figure and buried his face in Red's neck.

"My God, I can feel your heart pounding!" Red exclaimed as he rubbed Dembe's back in an effort to soothe him. He tried to pull back so he could look in Dembe's face, but that only caused the younger man to cling tighter. "It's alright, I'm right here. It's okay, Dembe," he kept repeating until he felt him begin to calm down. He gave one last squeeze and let go. Leaning back on his haunches, he regarded the man he thought of as his son for a moment. "I tried calling you to tell you I was on my way home, but I got your voicemail. And then, I walk into the house and hear you screaming? You haven't had a nightmare like that in quite some time." He reached down and picked up the broken glass from the rug.

"Sorry about the glass, Raymond."

"I don't give a damn about the glass, Dembe," he said as he stood. "I care about _you._ Does this nightmare have anything to do with whatever was bothering you earlier?"

"Nothing was bothering me earlier, Raymond. I already told you. I had some of your scotch and it didn't agree with me. It was a stupid thing to do with an upset stomach. The dream was not about…my past."

Raymond looked like he was going to say something else, but shrugged his shoulders instead. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. My meeting went well and I should have what I need by Sunday afternoon. Since I couldn't reach you, I stopped at that Ethiopian restaurant on Roman Way and got a double portion of the chicken soup you like. Come eat. You'll feel better."

As Dembe followed Raymond into the kitchen he thought, _I have to be on guard. I don't want him to know about any of this; I will handle it on my own._


	3. Chapter 3

"I don't know what and I don't know why, but Dembe is lying to me. He's hiding something from me."

Mr. Kaplan was trying to shove a body into a bag and huffed in exasperation. "Listen, Dearie, I appreciate that you're worried about Dembe. I love him, too, but right now, you're supposed to be filling in for one of my girls and I need some help with this corpse, if you please!"

"Oh, yes. Sorry." Red set to work assisting his cleaner with her job. He had run into some resistance in an attempt to garner some information he needed for an arms deal and had to take extreme measures. Disposing of this particular body was the last of this bit of nasty business. Zipping the bag closed, he stood and slapped his hands together. "There. All done. Dinner?"

"Of course. Give me an hour. I'll meet you. The safe house?"

Red shook his head. "No. I might want to discuss Dembe with you. Chez Bruce?"

"Perfect. See you there."

TBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTB

"For the past three days, Dembe has not been himself."

Kate Kaplan pushed her now empty dinner plate aside and picked up her wine glass. Swirling the liquid around before sipping, she said, "And you think it's because he's keeping secrets."

"I do. He's distracted, he's had nightmares and most telling: He is avoiding me."

"Didn't I just see the two of you together yesterday?"

"You did. He was supposed to be with me and he was. He does his job, but it's when the job's over…" He took the last bite of his dessert and leaned in closer. "Dembe stays close to me. Physically close. He always has. When he first came to live with me, it was because he was afraid of strangers, especially men. As time passed, of course, he realized there were times he would have to be away from me; getting his education, mainly and then when he went to war. But if we're both home relaxing, nine times out of ten, he's in the same room I am. The last three days, whenever I was in the kitchen, he was in the living room. If I entered the living room, he went to his bedroom."

Kate signaled the waiter and ordered another Pinot noir for herself and a scotch on the rocks for Red. When the drinks were delivered, she opined, "I'm shocked you didn't say you went to his bedroom."

Red quirked his lips and then swallowed more of his scotch. "I did, actually. Last night. I asked him again was something wrong. He said no, told me he was going to the store and left! I called him when I left you earlier to tell him that you and I were getting together for dinner and that I would come pick him up if he wanted to join us. He said no. He hasn't seen you socially in over a _month_ and he loves you, but he didn't want to see you? That's…odd."

"Dearie, you and Dembe are so close, things that are completely normal in anyone else's eyes strikes you as odd or as him avoiding you. I'm sure he's fine and if he isn't, I'm sure you will be the first to know."

Red stood and helped her on with her coat. "Perhaps, you're right," he agreed, but inwardly he was thinking, _I don't think so, though._


	4. Chapter 4

Dembe had called Glen as soon as he had hung up from Raymond.

"Dembe! How ya doin'? I'm just on my way out to lunch, I was gonna call you when I got back to my office."

"You will speak to me _now,_ Glen. Whatever it is or whoever you plan to do will just have to wait. Were you able to do as I asked?"

The sound of air being blown forcefully out of Glen's mouth came through the phone. "You know, you're sounding more and more like Reddington every day!"

"I take that as a great compliment. What do you have to tell me?"

"Alright, alright, don't get your shorts in a bunch." The sound of rustling papers reached Dembe's ears. "Yeah, yeah, your guy is English and in London, alright. Goes by the name John Ferguson when he's whorin' around. Has a preference for prepubescent black boys when he's in Kenya and preteen Asian girls when he's in Thailand. He's what you'd call a 'sexual tourist." Real name is…either Jonas Spencer or Thomas Collins. Give me another day and I can tell you which one it is. Dembe? You still there?"

He had gone weak in the knees and had sat on the couch. "Yes, I'm still here. Do you have a location for him?"

"Still working on that. From what I've gathered, he's no saint when he's in England, but his crimes don't seem to be of a sexual nature. I have a few more things I have to check."

"Text me all the information you have now and as soon as you have the rest, send that, too."

"You got it. Dembe?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not askin', I'm just sayin' that if this is about what I _think_ it is, I hope Red strings this bastard up by the 'nads in Trafalgar Square."

"You haven't said anything to Raymond."

"I said I wouldn't, didn't I? But he has a way of figurin' things out, so you may end up havin' some 'splainin' to do, Lucy."

"Leave Raymond to me. Just send the information."

He had transferred what Glen had sent to his laptop and was studying it when he heard Raymond pull into the garage. He quickly closed it and took it up to his room. He was coming down the stairs when Red walked into the living room. "How was dinner?"

"Excellent! Kate missed you. She sends her love. What did you eat?"

"I am on my way out to get something now."

The older man's brows furrowed as he checked his watch. "Now? It's almost nine! Why are you eating so late?"

"I just wasn't hungry, but I am now and I want some Indian food from the takeaway around the corner." He turned to grab his jacket and could feel Raymond's eyes burning into his back as he donned it. Or, at least, he felt that way. When he turned back, Red was indeed looking at him. To fill the awkward silence between them he asked, "How much longer are we staying in London?" in a voice he hoped sounded only mildly curious.

"Ah. The Quartermaster has come through as promised, so I have a meeting with him tomorrow evening at his warehouse to pick up my goods. I need you to go with me. He and I get along fine, but you never know. From there, we'll head over to the jet to oversee my things being put aboard. We'll leave for Spain first thing Monday morning. Luli is already there; I talked to her yesterday and she's concluded my business in Madrid. I'll be glad to see her. I've missed her."

"I am glad Luli will be in Barcelona to meet you."

Before he could say anything more, Raymond interrupted, "What do you mean, meet _me_? What are you saying?"

"I need to stay in London a little while longer."

"Because?"

"I would rather not say." Dembe was stunned to see Raymond's shoulders slump as an expression of sadness crossed his face and quickly disappeared.

"Dembe, I know you're lying to me. I know you're keeping something from me. I know you're doing your damndest to avoid me. What I don't know is _why_. I only know…this is breaking my heart. I'm going to my room. Goodnight."

Dembe watched as Raymond headed up the stairs. He removed his jacket and dropped it onto the couch, his appetite gone. He almost followed Red. The idea that he was causing his mentor pain made him rethink what he was doing, but he came back to his original decision that he wanted to confront Ferguson himself. _As soon as I take care of him, I will sit down with Raymond in Barcelona and explain everything. He understands revenge. He will understand this._


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Raymond made no mention of their conversation of the night before. Anyone looking at him would only have seen a businessman going about his business on the phone; arranging meetings in Spain, apprising his contacts and clients of his upcoming relocation and conferring with Luli about his Spanish real estate holdings. But inside, he was hurting.

He had hoped that telling Dembe point blank that he knew something was going on would prompt the younger man to come clean, but Dembe had remained silent. In fact, he had risen early and gone out, though he had assured Red that he would be back in plenty of time to accompany him to The Quartermaster's warehouse. He didn't want to, but he was beginning to think that perhaps he had offended Dembe in some way though he was clueless as to what that offense could be. He knew better than to ask Mr. Kaplan if Dembe had confided in her. Up until the past week, he would have said Dembe told him everything.

A thought occurred to him that caused him to sit up and put his phone on his desk. _No, Dembe tells me everything except about his life in the brothel. I didn't think he would be comfortable doing that when he first came to live with me, so I hired therapists for him.* Could that be what's weighing on his mind?_ The more Red thought about it, the more viable it seemed as the answer to Dembe's demeanor. Now, Dembe's telling him that he planned to stay behind in London was starting to make sense. Something here had triggered his memories of life in that Nairobi hellhole. But _what?_

 _After we leave the jet, I'll suggest to him that he make an appointment to see his therapist. I can have him flown in to London or even Barcelona if Dembe prefers. Whatever it takes, that's what I'll do to get him through this rough patch._

That lifted Red's spirits for the first time that day. He was certain he was right about Dembe's memories of Owite's brothel being triggered by something he had seen recently. Just then, he heard Dembe calling him. "I'm in my office!" he answered and moments later, the younger man appeared in the doorway.

"I am ready to go whenever you are, Raymond."

"Excellent. Give me twenty minutes and we'll leave."

Dembe was using the car's GPS system to make his way to Margraten Avenue near the Eastern Esplanade. He glanced in the rearview mirror to see Red watching the scenery, seemingly lost in thought. He was glad of that because he really was in no mood to lie to him and if they were to have a conversation, if Raymond asked how he was feeling, it would most certainly be a lie he would tell him and he hated lying to him.

He had awakened and headed out early to follow up on a few leads Glen had texted him the night before. Unfortunately, none of them had panned out; the only useful thing he received was Ferguson's real name: Jonas Spencer. There were quite a few Jonas and J Spencers listed in the greater London area according to his Google search and he had been methodically checking them one by one. In fact, he realized as they approached their destination, he had checked out an address about a mile away on Maurice Road. He still had fifteen names left on his list which would have to wait until tomorrow after Raymond departed for Spain.

"You have reached your destination. Your destination is on the right," the GPS intoned as he pulled alongside the curb and looked at the house.

"That does not look very much like a warehouse to me, Raymond."

"Looks are deceiving, Dembe. This house and the house next door both belong to The Quartermaster and are connected underground by tunnels and storage rooms where he keeps his stock." A small truck appeared at the end of the street and drove up to park behind them. "Ah. Boz is here with his helpers."

Dembe relaxed his grip on his Glock when he recognized the driver as one of Raymond's employees. "Don't the neighbors get suspicious about trucks continually making deliveries and picking up items?" He got out and opened Red's door.

"My understanding is that his cover is that he buys and sells things via the internet," Raymond answered as he exited the car and adjusted his fedora. "I'm only interested in him having my things ready to go." He walked to the front door and rang the bell which was immediately answered by a man who looked to be in his late twenties – early thirties. "Hello! Raymond Reddington here to pick up my goods." He pointed behind him. "My associate, Dembe Zuma, and my three movers."

"You're expected," Twenty or Thirty – something said. "The Quartermaster is on a call and told me to let you in and show your men what to take." He handed Red a piece of paper. "Your invoice. If you agree with the contents, I'll take your men to the storage area to get it."

Red perused the paper carefully and then gave it to Boz and his men. "That's everything. Load it up and head for the jet."

The man who let them in led Red's men down into the basement after telling them to have a seat in the living room. Dembe chose to remain standing close to the kitchen entrance so that he could see anyone coming down the stairs before he could be seen. After a few minutes, Red and Dembe could hear footfalls upstairs in the hallway and then coming toward them.

"Sorry about that, Red," the voice on the stairway called as he approached, "I can never get that bloke off the phone…What in bloody hell is going on?"

Raymond turned to see what The Quartermaster was talking about and was shocked to see Dembe with his gun drawn and pointed at his host. " _I_ was going to say that I was annoyed to be kept waiting, but I see my associate has really taken offense. Dembe, what's happening?"

Dembe was so overwhelmed with emotions; anger, fear, anxiety, that he was actually trembling. "Ferguson!" he spat out, "This man is John Ferguson!"

"Dembe, I think you might be mistaken. This is The Quartermaster. His name is…"

"Jonas Spencer," Dembe interjected, "At least, that is what he goes by when he's home. When he is in Thailand or Kenya having sex with children, he goes by the name John Ferguson."

Red turned back to look at The Quartermaster. He pulled his gun and pointed it at the man. They could hear the men coming back up from the basement. Raymond placed a finger to his lips to command Spencer to remain quiet.

Twenty or Thirty – something came through the door first, saw Dembe and Red immediately gunned him down as he reached for his weapon. "Boz, don't drop my things! Dembe and I have everything under control!"

"Okay, I'm coming out!" Boz called before stepping into view. Red was pleased to see that though he was carrying a box, he had his gun in hand. "Anything you need me to do here, Boss?"

"No." Waggling his gun, Red indicated that Spencer move away from the door and sit on the couch. "Just load everything on my jet. You'll get paid the usual way. I won't be calling you for a while. Enjoy."

They watched as Red's things were loaded on the truck and driven away to the airfield. Red took a seat at the dining room table and looked at Dembe. "Sit. Please." When Dembe did, he said, "So, Quartermaster, John Ferguson, Jonas Spencer, whoever you are. It would seem that an explanation is forthcoming. How do you know my associate?"

"Red, I swear, I don't! I've never seen him before in my life!" He screamed in pain as Dembe, who had attached his silencer, shot him in the kneecap.

"I will refresh your memory," Dembe said. "The first time I met you I was eight years old. You took a liking to me. You…did things to me and made me do things to you. You did not care that I cried, you did not care that I was frightened, you did not care that I was a _child!_ Everytime you came to Owite's, you chose me. There were other men, but you were the worst. The older I got, the more you abused me. It was like you were angry at me for growing. That last time you chose me, you hurt me so badly that I fought back. You helped Owite's guards beat me and after you left, I was dragged to the basement where I was chained to a drain pipe to die."

Spencer's eyes widened in recognition as he listened. "Dembe! Dembe, I'm so sorry you think that about me. I, I was very, very fond of you! Remember? Remember I used to bring you toys? You liked that, didn't you?" This time when he screamed, it was because Red had shot him in the other kneecap.

"Do not say his name again." Red's voice naturally deepened when he was angry and it was positively rumbling in his throat. " _You're_ the reason I found him in the condition I did? _You're_ the reason I couldn't touch him for years because I didn't want him to think he was my sex slave? I couldn't hug him or kiss him or show him _any_ kind of physical affection! Because of _you!_ " He looked at Dembe. "He's the reason you've been acting so out of character lately. You saw him a few days ago, didn't you?" When Dembe nodded, he looked at Spencer and said, "Well, today is not your day. I'm not giving you the half – millions dollars I owe you and Dembe is going to kill you."

"No! Please! I'll do anything! Just name it!"

Dembe stood and snatched the man off the couch and practically threw him across the room to the basement stairs. "You can keep begging so I can continue to ignore you like you ignored me when I begged you to stop," he said as he pushed him down the stairs ahead of him. Red could hear the man begging until he didn't.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Red's jet took off as scheduled on its way to Barcelona, Spain. Only Red and Dembe were aboard as Mr. Kaplan had been instructed to clean The Quartermaster's warehouse of any trace of Red, Dembe, Boz and his crew and, of course, dispose of the two bodies left there.

"Consider it done, Dearie," she had said, "Anything else?"

He had been about to say no when Dembe leaned in and whispered into his ear. "Excellent thinking, Dembe!" Instead he said, "Dembe says there's a virtual treasure trove of things squirreled away in those underground storage rooms. Please arrange to have everything moved to my storage facility in Seine St – Denis. Have it inventoried there and email me the product list. We'll let it be known I have those items for sale the next time we're in Paris."

Kate had allowed herself a small smile. "I guess that makes _you_ the new 'Concierge of Crime.'"

Raymond had burst out laughing as he put his arm around Dembe's shoulders. "The Concierge of Crime! I _like_ it!"

 _Dembe._ Red looked fondly at him as he sat on the opposite side sipping a mug of tea while looking out the window. Sensing he was being watched, the younger man turned to face him. "I am sorry, Raymond, for the hurt I caused you. Maybe I should have mentioned that I saw Ferg…Spencer and recognized him, but I was determined that I would take care of it myself."

"Only to find out that the very person you were searching for was the man with whom I was doing business. Take it as a lesson learned. We wasted precious time, my brother, time we could have spent together because you kept a secret between us. I've gotten over the hurt, but what I want is for there to be no more secrets. I don't need or want the details of your younger years if you don't wish to share them with me, but please, if you ever see someone else from your past, tell me. I'll handle the situation however you like, but just tell me."

Dembe crossed over to sit next to Raymond. He stuck out his hand. "I promise: No more secrets."

Red took Dembe's hand, shook it and then pulled him into a hug. Kissing his cheek, he said, "I'll hold you to that."


End file.
